


Sharing Is Caring

by StarDrifter759



Series: Quantum Mirror: Stargate Alternate Realities [3]
Category: Stargate - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Heavy Emphasis on Divide and Conquer, Kind of an accident, More plot than porn, One Shot, Porn With Plot, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Devil You Know, Seriously this was supposed to be smut what happened?, Short Story, Through-Episode: s04e05 Divide and Conquer, d&c fixit, things happen differently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18677071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarDrifter759/pseuds/StarDrifter759
Summary: Sometimes it's not about falling in love, not about that big future. Sometimes... you just need a little help getting by.





	Sharing Is Caring

**Author's Note:**

> I am exaggerating the age difference between Janet and Sam for the purposes of this little fic. IRL Teryl and Amanda are three years apart, in this story Janet will be six years older than Sam.
> 
> * means I totally made that up, and you wont find it in any Goa'uld language indexes

**Hara'kesh** : A Goa'uld weapon that fits on two fingers, smaller than a hand device. It is a deadly weapon that can also be used for torture and is favored by Ashraks

 **Hasshak** : Weakling/Fool (insult)

* **Kal'mel'ach mek nok** : Friends that care deeply for one another and share a physical (read: sexual) relationship, but are not "in love" with one another.

 **Za'tarc** : A brainwashed individual whose purpose is to assassinate. Part of the zatarc's brainwashing is to commit suicide if the programming is detected.

 

* * *

  

It was the first time that looking at Martouf had really struck her. It wasn’t anything special. He wasn’t trying. Hell, he was hardly there. Just sitting on the end of one of the beds in the infirmary waiting to be cleared. In truth it was a little ridiculous that he was going to be checked out at all. Yes, she had no doubt that’d suffered just as much on Netu as SG1 had, but he had a healthy symbiote to heal him. Still, Janet didn’t say anything about the unusual request. Seeing the Colonel look at the Tok’ra with genuine concern – when he thought no one was looking, naturally – had bought her acquiescence.

Martouf tilted his head, and looked up at her through his lashes as she came to a stop beside him, and lightning struck. She stood rooted to spot, realizing that she’d always been wrong about his eyes. She’d thought that they were a crystal blue, but that was wrong, no, they were a pale grey-green… _green_. Something the harsh fluorescents and his soot covered skin showed to advantage.

Janet cleared her throat and tried to recover, hoping he hadn’t noticed her distraction. “Well Martouf, being a host there’s not much I can do for you except attach an IV and push some fluids through to combat the dehydration.”

“That will not be necessary, I”

Janet cut him off. “I wasn’t asking. Whether you like it or not, right now you’re a patient in my infirmary. I know your symbiote is capable of some pretty incredible healing, but I doubt he can synthesize hydration. I also know quite a bit about the human body and introducing fluids can only be good for you.”

His beautiful eyes sun-flared as the symbiote came forward. “What is the makeup of the fluids you are suggesting?”

“The solution I want to give you is called LR or Lactated Ringers, it is an isotonic crystalloid that contains sodium chloride, potassium chloride, calcium chloride, and sodium lactate in sterile water. Now, I’d prefer to give you a full liter but I am willing to admit that you may have mitigated Martouf’s dehydration somewhat. You did know in advance the probable situation, and from what I understand can manage every bodily function, and improve efficiency.”

Martouf’s head bowed for moment before he looked up at her again. “Lantash finds your ‘solution’ acceptable, however we require only half of the quantity suggested, perhaps even less.”

Janet pursed her lips against the urge to argue. To be honest she hadn’t anticipated him accepting an IV at all, much less with what amounted to only a token resistance. She couldn’t stop the foot tapping though. That particular bad habit had been around as long as she could remember.  

“Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal. Now if you’ll just lie back properly, I’ll be right back.”

It should be illegal for anyone’s smile to be that charming. She cleared her throat and went about her business as he scooted back and situated himself on the bed. Returning to his bedside she snapped on her latex gloves and pulled out the alcohol pad and tourniquet.

“So,” she started, “how are you?” It was a stupid question, she knew that, but she needed to say something. She had the feeling that he had probably been talking to his symbiote, but whatever they were ruminating over it was clearly painful.

…And she honestly didn’t believe the hallucinogenic drugs and torture were to blame.

Janet tied the tourniquet - luckily he wasn’t as dehydrated as the others and she found a vein with relative ease – and cleaned the injection site on autopilot. Insert catheter, remove needle, attach tubing, secure it to his arm and done. He still hadn’t answered. To buy time, she triple checked the bag, line, and site. All good. Pulling off the gloves she tossed them into the small bin by his bed.

“Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary Dr. Fraiser. You do not have to protect me.” The second sentence came out in a flat, deadened voice. And only served to increase her concern. He seemed so… alone. She knew it wasn’t true, he was never really alone, but she also knew that whatever was hurting Martouf – that nebulous, unknown, personal pain – hurt Lantash too. Typically, she wasn’t one to prescribe getting laid as a fix for emotional ailments… But in this case, she thought the comfort and warmth of a body next to his would go a long way. It wouldn’t solve anything, of course, but it would soothe.

Well… maybe.

It suddenly occurred to her that Sam might be part of the problem. And that would be disastrous. It was a blind guess, but deciding that saying something wouldn’t hurt and might help, Janet squared her shoulders and spoke in a low voice so as not to be overheard. “Sam does care about you, you know.”

He seemed momentarily confused, as if his mind needed to change gears, and then his smile twisted, became self-deprecating and sardonic.

“She just…”

“Does not love me. I know my personal relationship with Jolinar is a source of discomfort for her. In truth, this is for the best. The loss of my mate still weighs heavily on me. I do care for Samantha, however, I find I am not…”

“Ready.” Janet said simply, offering a shrug. “A relationship with Sam would be complicated for both of you. And the confusion she feels over Jolinar’s memories mean she’d never be able to take things slow with you. It was be… heavy, from the beginning. And she’s not ready for that either.”

“Nor do I believe it is something she even wants.”

“No,” Janet agreed with him, “she’s young and living a dangerous, adventurous life. Not very conducive to a serious relationship.”

Silence descended. It was weighty, but not uncomfortable.

“Are you staying for the briefing in the morning with SG1 and General Hammond?”

“Yes, then I will return to the tunnels and make my report to the council.”

“Well,” She looked at the bag of LR, “Why don’t you try to sleep for a bit. My shift ends in an hour and I figure by then I’ll be able to cut you loose. Were you assigned guest quarters?”

He shook his head, “I believe it was assumed I would spend the night here.”

“Hmm, I’ll make sure you have quarters arranged. No need to stay here when you don’t have to. Besides, I might need that bed for someone I can actually help.” She teased.

He smiled again, arrestingly charming, as usual. She couldn’t help a small curl of her lips in return.

 

Janet yawned as she made her way to the mess hall. One of the benefits of working on a base like this one was that there was always something to eat… no matter how questionable. In truth, she wasn’t hungry, but the walk helped to clear her mind and eating something would give her some much needed energy as well.

For Janet, On Call nights always went the same way. She swept her gave over the other late night mess hall denizens after putting some cereal on a tray. Spotting Martouf hunched over some pudding in a lonely corner, she reconsidered her previous thought. _Or maybe not_.

She didn’t even remember deciding to walk over, but nonetheless she found herself standing across the table from him. “Mind some company?”

He gestured to the seat she was hovering by, “please.”

She sat down, scrutinizing him as she did. His eyes were sad, haunted, and ringed with purple, skin an unhealthy pallor – but she would admit that the lighting had that effect on everyone to some degree, and clearly he was exhausted. “Couldn’t sleep?” She asked, turning to her cereal.

“Unfortunately, no.” Now he studied her. She fought not to blush under his gaze. “I must admit some surprise at seeing you here, Dr. Frasier. Though the Tok’ra live on their assigned base I had understood from Jacob that such was not the case here.”

“I’m on call tonight,” she wavered her spoon around, “There are nurses on duty now, but we do still have teams off-world, and if there’s an emergency and they come back injured, I need to be available, and I live too far away to go home when it’s my turn, so I have quarters here. Actually, all personal can bed down here if they need to, but most rooms are like barracks - multiple, shared beds in one room. I’m one of the lucky ones with my own personal quarters. Home away from home.”

“Are personal quarters such as your own an indication of importance?” He was irritatingly cute when he cocked his head like that.

“In a way. We’re a military base, so rank does absolutely matter, but so does family, and I’m a single mother, so...” She shrugged.

“Your child is allowed here?” He seemed understandably stunned by that thought.

“Most wouldn’t be. But Cassie – my daughter’s name is Cassandra, we call her Cassie – is actually from a different planet herself.”

Martouf raised his eyebrows. “Intriguing, how did she come to be yours?”

“Nirrti attacked her village. Cassie was the only survivor.” She fiddled with the dredges of her cereal. “It’s a more detailed story of course, but those are the highlights. So she’s ‘in the know’ as it were, and is allowed here. Normally she spends my on call nights here with me, but my sister is in town and agreed to watch Cassie tonight.”

Martouf nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond, except to scrape the out the rest of his chocolate pudding. And Janet was struck with a thought she’d never considered – and really should have.

“Did you have any children? Before becoming a host, I mean.” Of course it would have been before he was a host, they don’t believe in hosts procreating because they’d inherit the symbiote’s genetic memory.

“I did, yes. A son.” Old pain; long scarred over.

“Would it be okay if I asked what happened?” She queried softly, before insisting, “I won’t be offended if you say no.”

He sighed heavily. “It was a long time ago.” A small sad smile – she’d seen too many of those from him tonight.

“My wife died in labor. Luckily, my sister had recently given birth and could wean him – thus saving my son’s life.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “When he was two, the Goa’uld came, and he was taken from me. Initially, I was considered for a host, however eventually I was sold through various slave auctions until I became a slave in a minor Goa’uld’s naquadah mine. I have never known what became of my son.”

“I’m sorry.” Her heart hurt just thinking about being separated from Cassie in a situation like that.

He shrugged. “It is something I came to terms with long ago.”

“Still…”

“Yes, even still.”

“I’m surprised the Goa’uld passed you over as a host though. You’re certainly attractive enough.” This time she couldn’t stop the blush.

He looked at her through his lashes, grin wicked, “my eyes disturbed them.”

“They are unusual. Wouldn’t describe them as ‘disturbing’ myself though.”

“I am glad that they did. I do not believe I would have found life as host to a Goa’uld as agreeable as I find my life with Lantash.”

“Fair enough.” She tapped the spoon on the table, fighting the impulse. She’d already asked him several personal questions.

“If you wish to know, you need only ask.” Was he teasing her?

She caved. “All right, you got me. How’d you end up a Tok’ra host? You volunteered, right?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I did.” He looked down at the table, seeming contemplative and nostalgic.

“It was actually Jolinar who approached me.” He looked back up. “The Tok’ra had operatives on the planet I was enslaved on. Lantash’s pervious host had been mortally wounded, and apparently Jolinar had been aware of me for some time. Though I had no means, I wanted to fight back - and the Tok’ra knew it. She explained who and what they were, and then asked if I would volunteer. I have never regretted my choice.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong here, but I thought Sam said that you’d been mated to Jolinar for one hundred years… was that you, or was it Lantash before you and you? How old _are_ you?”

Yet another charming smile graced his features – he really needed to stop doing that. It was distracting. “I am one hundred thirty nine of your years. And Lantash was _not_ mated to Jolinar before me. In fact, when first she approached me, Rosha was not yet her host.

“Love happened quickly for us.”

“Wow… that’s a pretty incredible story.”

“I am sure you have a fair share of incredible stories yourself.”

“You flatter me.” Janet yawned again, “Oh man, I need coffee.” She eyed Martouf critically for a moment. “Can I interest you in a cup?”

“Coffee… it is a stimulant beverage commonly consumed by the Tau’ri, is it not? Jacob has mentioned a fondness for it many times.” He glanced toward the pots of old burned coffee sitting innocently on their burners, and wrinkled his nose adorably.

“Not that swill. Uck. No. I have a better set-up in my quarters and can make us some coffee there. And – you can say no, of course – but I wont be sleeping and my keen physician senses tell me you won’t be either, so… why not keep each other company? I also have games – most of them are kids games, but it’s better than nothing. Interested?” It was her turn to tilt her head in question.

He nodded, “quite.”

“Great.” They stood and dropped off their trays before heading towards the door. “Oh, and please call me Janet.” 

They went to her room. She made coffee. They talked and laughed. Lantash’s response to caffeine had been especially amusing. More and more she was looking at him different – and she was confident that he was looking at her differently too. Her previous thoughts about the comfort of a warm body in bed beside your own continued to filter through her mind until she admitted to herself that maybe she needed some of that comfort too. Maybe it wasn’t entirely for his benefit that she’d invited him here. Maybe it was for hers. She looked at him, sitting across the small table from her, drinking in the sight of him.

Yeah, maybe she wasn’t as altruistic as she’d wanted to believe.

But that was okay. Neither of them wanted emotional entanglements. Both of them had responsibilities elsewhere. If anything happened – and she stressed that _if_ to herself – they’d both know what it was. And what it wasn’t. They were both mature enough to be able to seek comfort in one another’s arms without hyperbolizing it into something else. Something it never would or could be.

Her body had reacted without her permission to these thoughts. Especially considering that she’d removed her lab coat, blouse, and tie as soon as they’d come in. It was automatic, not meant to mean anything, but her body temperature skyrocketed at the thought of undressing – even just partially – in front of him, regardless.

If she didn’t distract herself soon, she’d jump him. Time for a game.

“So… Candy Land?”

He laughed. “This is a child’s game?”

“Yup. And largely geared toward girls, so I hope you’re secure in your masculinity.” She hopped up and went to the tall shelf filled with Cassie’s games, books, and art supplies. She couldn’t reach the game. Well, this was embarrassing… Sam and her seven inch height advantage must have put it away last.

A warm body lined up behind hers. A strong arm reaching over her head and smoothly grabbing the box she’d been grasping for. Just like that, he once again invaded her senses - and her body responded.

As the hand holding the game came down, she turned toward him. He didn’t step away - she didn’t object. His breath caused her bangs to dance and still she did nothing but involuntarily lick her lips. She watched his eyes track the movement, watched his pupils dilate in response, held her breath as his gaze returned to hers.

Janet didn’t remember raising her hands, but the soft shirt and firm abdomen beneath that she could suddenly feel told her that she had. His free hand bracketed her face as he leisurely began to lean down. She watched him come closer, gaze darting between captivating green and alluring lips. He paused, lips just shy of hers, waiting.

“If you do not desire this, tell me to stop.” His breath caressed her lips as he whispered the words.

Her previously held breath trembled out of her, before she tilted her head and finally touched her mouth to his. His lips were warm against hers, softer than the finest velvet. They separated from the light touch, then came back together more definitively.

Cling and part, cling and part – again, and again, and again. Then his mouth settled over hers, and velvet became silk as they slid together in the single most breathtaking kiss of her life. His mouth encouraged hers to open, deepening the kiss as his tongue tangled with hers.    

Distantly she heard a clatter as he discarded the game. His newly unburdened arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her body firmly against his, a knee sliding between her legs. She trembled and moaned at the glorious feeling. Good Lord this man could _kiss_.

As the kiss became even more passionate, Janet gasped for air and slid her hands higher. Martouf lowered his arm, getting a firm grasp before tilting her hips, and pulling her up his thigh, changing her gasp to a moan. Fingers tangled in her hair as she rolled her hips, grinding against his thigh with his encouragement.

She tore her mouth from his just long enough to whimper “Oh, God” before crashing back into him. Magma flowed through her veins, pooling in her vagina, clit twitching at the rush of sensation. Barely begun and she was already hotter than she’d ever been.

Martouf paused momentarily before he redoubled his efforts, kissing her wildly, igniting the magma into furious flames. Her fingers curled into his shirt, fisting it – along with some hair, no doubt – as she ground down on him desperately.

She pushed her tongue against his, battling him for dominance. He growled low in his throat, the sound deeper and more reverberating than it should be. Lantash – she must be kissing Lantash. A little niggle in the back of her mind told her that revelation ought to bother her… but it didn’t. It really didn’t. Somehow even more turned on, Janet released his shirt and grasped the back of his neck with both hands; kissing him until their teeth clacked together.

Lantash disentangled his hand from her hair, instead seizing her thigh and tightening the arm around her waist as he picked her up and spirited her across the room, effortlessly depositing her on the bed. Still kissing as he leaned over her, both hands now on her face.

At length he pulled back, brushing her cheekbones with his thumbs. Janet licked her bruised, kiss-swollen lips. She didn’t need a mirror to know her pupils were blown wide. Gaze locked on him, she watched as he knelt down, removing first one shoe, and then the other. Without breaking eye contact, he slid his hands up, slowly moving over her calves, knees, and thighs. Reaching her center, he stroked her heat through her pants. She was so wet she honestly wouldn’t be surprised if his fingers came away damp. She bit her lip, the fact that neither of them had looked away yet making the sensations he was eliciting in her even more intense.

Janet honestly wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed when his clever fingers moved to her belt. Buckle, button, zipper, and then, “Now if you’ll just lie back properly…” She couldn’t stop her smile or quick laugh as Lantash parroted her earlier words back to her.

“Trouble,” she threw back.

“You have no idea,” his voice was rich with promise. She shivered in anticipation, lying back per his instruction.

Lantash’s nails scraped lightly as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of both pants and underwear, pulling them down together. Discarding the garments on the ground, he took her ankles in hand and guided her (socked – how embarrassing) feet into position on the edge of bed – knees bent, legs apart, feet planted, and himself firmly in between. “Keep them here.”

After she nodded, thankfully warm hands once again began to glide up her legs - shins, knees, inner thighs, and then veering off course just before he reached her center. She groaned in disappointment as his hands settled on her waist. He left her in suspense for a brief moment before hauling her to the edge. This position wasn’t tenable; her socked feet would slide off eventually.

Warm breath ghosted across wet folds. She arched her neck, fighting to contain her anticipation as a disassociated part of her brain was relieved that at least she trimmed twice of month. The first touch of his tongue and she cried out softly, raising a hand to her mouth in an attempt to smother the sounds. Oh Jesus, James, and Mary, she hadn’t been touched like this in years.    

He explored her at his leisure. Tongue mapping the expanse of her, repeating strokes that garnered moans, whimpers, or gasps, and bypassing those that didn’t. Using that compass he quickly established a rhythm that left her boneless with pleasure. Circular strokes that touched her clit every third pass built her frustration, pushing her closer to orgasm.

Fisting her free hand in his hair, Janet tilted her hips up, desperate for just a little more pressure. She didn’t need much, just… She cried out in disappointment as he withdrew from her, the exact opposite of what she wanted. Thankfully he wasn’t gone long, and shortly dove back in, this time flattening his tongue and directly pleasuring clit with firm, short, vertical strokes.  

One hand firm on her hips, the other reached up to fondle a breast through her clothes. She grabbed his arm, pressing it down hard as her back arched and she moaned, climbing toward release. “La… Lantash,” gasp, “oh… yes,” groan, “more, please…Lantash, yes!”

Releasing her hip, Lantash plunged two fingers into her, immediately curling them in a beckoning gesture, and finding her G-spot near instantaneously. She careened into ecstasy; warmth curling in her belly and shooting down her legs, toes curling and inner walls clamping rhythmically as she came.

Vaguely she was aware of him pulling away, disappearing before standing where previously he’d kneeled. Big, warm hands, stroked soothingly down her ribs, following her thighs to her knees. Mustering her will, she focused her gaze, drinking in the sight as he shrugged the donated BDU blouse off his shoulders. His hands returned to her knees, retracing his path, this time taking her shirt with him, and tossing it over his shoulder.

His touch had changed, questing now instead of demanding – Martouf. She blinked. Huh. It was strange to realize that while Lantash’s touch had been firm – and yes, demanding – he hadn’t actually taken. Far from it, he’d given _her_ a mind-blowing orgasm – asking nothing in return - then smoothly passed control of their shared body back to the host.

Thumbs brushed her nipples through the thin material of her bra, bringing her back. Back to her quarters in Cheyene Mountain, back to Martouf, and the wonderful feelings he educed from her. She arched her back, pressing her breasts into his hands more firmly. He gave a slow, seductive grin – as if he hadn’t already, quite literally, charmed the pants off her – and leaned down to capture her mouth in another glorious kiss, tongue ravishing her mouth, hands kneading her breasts.

Martouf swallowed her moan, cleaver fingers moving to unclasp her bra. “Wow,” she murmured against his lips, “you did that with one hand.”

He smiled and dove back in, kissing her hard as he pulled the straps down her arms. Janet undid his belt before tugging on his shirt. They broke apart only long enough for her to remove the offending garment. She pulled him down atop her, wrapping herself around him; loving the bitter taste of herself on his lips, the silken expanse of newly exposed skin, and the warm weight of his body on hers.

She lifted her legs, hooking her big toes under the waistbands of his pants and underwear, pushing them down – at least until they caught on his erection – a quick freeing maneuver later and they fell down his legs to pool around his ankles. Returning her legs to his waist, she moaned at the feel of him cradled by her labia majora. So wonderful. So distractingly wonderful. Her heart rate picked up - soon, she’d have him soon, and she couldn’t wait.

“Martouf,” she pleaded breathlessly.

He groaned at the desperate, wanton sound. Seized her under her arms and effortlessly tossed her further onto the bed. Batting a leg aside as he crawled over her. She arched her back and tilted her pelvis, yearning for him, craving him. “Please,” she gasped, “please Martouf, please!”

“As you will,” he whispered against her lips, before driving into her.

She cried out loudly, clawing at his shoulder blades, writhing beneath him. “More,” she whimpered when he didn’t continue to move.

He dipped his head, kissing her clavicle, as he began a leisurely undulation of his hips. If it weren’t for the fact that she was filled to capacity - and in fact, stretching to accommodate him – the slow pace would be maddening. As it was, she needed to acclimate, gasping and moaning as they moved together.

He whispered her name, voice rough with desire. Her jaw dropped open in a silent cry at the sound. He said her name again, a question in his husky voice. Holding back was costing him.

She nodded repeatedly. Yes, she didn’t care if she was on the edge of pain, it was too good, yes, please, thrust… even though the rolling ground his pelvis against her clit and was doing truly wonderful things to her, she needed more. More!

He began to thrust properly, pulling back then snapping his hips forward, plunging deep. “Yes!” she cried, trying to climb him like a tree.

He growled and slid his arms beneath her, grasping her shoulders, keeping her in place as he pounded in.

“Yes, Martouf! Oh, my God,” she’d never had sex this good. He blew every partner she’d ever had out of the water. Every thrust was practically a revelation. Thrust. So good. Thrust. Wonderful, actually. Thrust. Perfect. Thrust. Mind-blowing. Thrust. Yes!

The coil in her belly was tightening, tingles beginning to spread from her center down her legs. She was on that delicious, final climb to her climax, when he abruptly pulled out. She cried out in discontent at being robbed of her pleasure. The tingles were quieting, heat uncoiling.

In her brief disorientation, he rearranged her. Putting her (largely) on her side, he straddled one leg, lifting the other to bend around his waist, and plowed into her. This time her shout was one of overwhelming pleasure at how deep he penetrated.

She’d been wrong before – _this_ was the best sex she’d ever had. Mary mother of God - _he_ was a god, “Yes!”  

His pace increased, riding her deep and hard, the bed frame shrieking and protesting while the mattress bounced beneath them. She knew she was vocalizing, but at this point she was so mindless with pleasure and desire it had to be incoherent. Didn’t matter, she was climbing again, careening toward her orgasm.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she had to encourage him; she wouldn’t be denied her release again. He was vocalizing now too, no words, just sounds. His brow was furrowed, mouth open, expression wanton, the last thing she needed to come.

“Martouf!” She cried, as the little death crashed through her; toe curling, jaw dropping, ears ringing, vision tunneling, like nothing she’d ever experienced.

His eyes sun-flared as Lantash seamlessly came fore. Bending over her, he took a nipple into his mouth and suckled as he changed the angle of his thrusts, increasing his pace even more, he plowed into her furiously, thumb pressing against her clit. “Lan…tash!” She flew into another orgasm. This time, he followed her into bliss.

 

“So,” Janet started, a few hours later, as she changed from the comfortable black cotton pants she had been wearing, to the decidedly less comfortable pants that were part of her uniform. “Just to make sure we’re all on the same page here, I have to ask. What is this?”

“I am uncertain that I understand your question. Do you mean to ask me my opinion on what we are to one another?” Martouf asked as he pulled the plain black t-shirt over his head.

“I figured we should have the ‘define the relationship’ conversation now just to make sure we’re on the same page, as I said, and avoid possible confusion later.”

“A sensible suggestion, especially considering that we stem from rather different cultures. Very well,” He began. “Amongst the Tok’ra it is not uncommon to come upon something we call ‘ _kal’mel’ach mek nok_ ,’ which translates as dear friends who share flesh. However, they are not mates, not…” He seemed to search for the proper word, “lovers, in the manner which I believe the Tau’ri understand the term.”

“So, friends with benefits then?” She laughed in reply.

He did that adorable thing where he wrinkled his nose in discontent. “ There is more respect amidst the parties involved, than I believe that phrase implies… but fundamentally, yes.” Now he looked at her with mild concern. “I hope you had not thought…” He trailed off, clearly uncertain.  

She beamed at him. “No, this is perfect. I don’t want a more ‘involved’ relationship than that. This,” she gestured between them, “is all I need right now. And when the time comes for us to go our separate ways, no hard feelings.”

His responding smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, “no hard feelings.” He agreed.

Oh yeah, this was the start of something beautiful.

  

* * *

  

It was understood and unspoken, that they’d keep their liaison between themselves unless directly confronted. Which lead to the special thrill that only sneaking around could stimulate. Quick couplings in her office or hidden closets – pinned against the wall, legs around his waist, desperately smothering her cries as he pumped in and out of her, or bent over as he took her from behind - were interspersed with the occasional sleepless night spent in her quarters. Luckily for her, with the treaty summit just around the corner, she had three days to indulge in his body. Something unprecedented in the year they’d spent as _kal’mel’ach mek nok_ _._

Janet knew – again, without being told - that he’d come to the SGC a lot more often than he would have otherwise. A feat she was grateful for, especially now that she could smell a change in the air. Something was coming, some change that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. That made her shiver. She didn’t know what it was, what this wind would bring, so she would avail herself of him while she could.

Which is how she found herself on his lap, riding him for all she was worth while he sat on the edge of her bed, hands grasping and kneading the globes of her ass, encouraging her to ride him harder, faster, as he tilted his hips with her movements as best he could.

“Martouf,” she gasped against his lips. He groaned and captured her mouth with his.

He changed the angle of his hips and she moaned in appreciation at the way her clit ground against his pelvic bone in just the way she needed. Knowing he’d recognize the high sound as one of ardent approval, knowing also that if they kept this up she’d come without his clever fingers, she drank in his expression through heavy lidded eyes, watched his face twist as he fought against his own needs and held the position that was working for her.

“That’s it,” he murmured to her, “come for me, Janet.”

She did. Shattering at the seams. He gave her no respite. Eyes flaring, Lantash stood with her still in his arms – and still impaled on his cock – and laid her on the table, lifted her legs straight, crossed them at the ankle and leaned forward. His renewed thrusts were brutal, the sounds of skin slapping echoing in the room along with their rapturous vocalizations as he chased his orgasm; pounding into her until he found his way home – and released into her body.

They stayed joined, breathing heavy as they came down from their respective highs. Eventually, he kissed her sweat damp shoulder and gently eased his body from hers, lowering her legs, and steadying her on her feet.

“We will be missed if we do not return soon.” The words had barely left his mouth before a voice came over the PA, summoning Janet. They shared a small laugh at the timing, and quickly dressed.

 

* * *

 

Janet shifted uncomfortably – for several reasons. One, the possibility of Sam and Colonel O’Neill being za’tarcs – something which didn’t feel right to her, but she couldn’t put her finger on why that would be. And two, because she hadn’t had a chance to clean up after her latest rendezvous and Martouf’s semen had slowly leaked from her body and was sluicing her panties. He was the only man she’d ever allowed to come in her. The first time, she hadn’t been able to think through the haze of lust and didn’t even realize that she’d forgotten to insist on a condom before it was too late. But she’d forgiven herself for that lapse fairly quickly. Lantash insured that he was clean, and sterile, taking the burden of responsibility off of her for a pleasant change of pace.      

But that wasn’t the point. She shook her head to clear her mind. The point was the cloying feel of something wrong; something sinister and nebulous - something that she needed to _stop_. Now she was pacing. Frustrated. Helpless. Certain – though she had no proof – that something was going to go wrong. Anise’s lie detector wasn’t fool-proof, especially if they were trying to test everyone before the summit – which was today. Damn soon in fact.

Anise and Martouf had spent most of the last two days making sure every at-risk SG unit had been tested, and the other scientists on Anise’s team were doing the same for the Tok’ra who would be traveling here… She paused. That _would be_ traveling here. Would – the key word, the magic word, in this instance. That meant there were two potentially compromised Tok’ra already on the base. Anise – whom Janet had gathered didn’t leave her base very often, and typically only traveled to safe destinations – and Martouf.

She sucked in a sharp breath as it all coalesced in her mind. This was bad. They didn’t have time for this. Colonel O’Neill and Sam were already set up to be anesthetized, in holding rooms, with guards on the doors. But Martouf would be in the embarkation room, to greet the Tok’ra delegation.

No!

He’d betray everything he believed in – no matter how hard he fought – and die in the process. Angry tears pricked her eyes. Steely resolve squared her shoulders.

No, he wasn’t going to die. And he wasn’t going to hurt anyone else. Because it wasn’t going to happen. And why you ask? Because she wasn’t going to fucking let it happen. That’s why.

Determined, she stalked over to her cabinets, and grabbed five morphine sulphate automatic injection shots. One would take down a human with ease, but a host? That cocktail she’d made to take down Jolinar had been considerably stronger, and taken way too long to work. They had better tranqs for hosts now, but none that she had on hand and could inject quickly. She needed to take him down before he knew what was happening. It was too close to the trigger event, and she didn’t know what defense mechanisms the programming may have.

Finally a corridor away, she slowed her pace. Symbiote enhanced senses meant he would hear her, and she already knew he recognized her gait. If he heard her running, he’d check what was wrong. She wanted him to dismiss her. Hear that it was someone he trusted – otherwise he _would_ check his six – but be otherwise too distracted to greet her immediately. Her timing had to be perfect.

She focused on keeping her breathing steady, her gait relaxed, as she crested the threshold. His back was to her; he was talking to the two Tok’ra guards that had already arrived – ahead of the delegation. They noticed her, but as Martouf stayed unperturbed, so did they, following his lead. She had one injection in each hand, the other three easily accessible in her pocket. One nervous lick of her lips, and she struck. One shot into the side of his neck, the other through the back of his neck, directly into Lantash.

He whipped around with beautiful, deadly, feline grace - snatching her wrist in a crushing grip even as she dropped the empty cylinders. Recognition bought her precious seconds. Janet had another injection in her free hand in the time it took him to blink once in confusion, and jabbed it into the soft skin of his exposed inner wrist.

Unfamiliar hands grabbed her arms with bruising strength, pulling her backwards, away from Martouf.

“Janet?” His voice was confused, oddly dazed, and faintly hurt. Her heart constricted painfully at the sound.

“It’s for your own good, I promise.” She insisted as his eyes glazed, before he dropped like sack of wet dirt. The two Tok’ra cried out in alarm. The one holding her tightened his grip – she winced in pain – the second rounding on her angrily.

“Hasshak!”

“Hey!” She exclaimed, offended. “There is a high probability that he is za’tarc, and I put him down before he could hurt himself or anyone else! Now let me go!” She twisted out her captor’s grip.

The commotion had drawn a crowd. Luckily, General Hammond had been in earshot by the end and had heard what she’d said.

“Are you sure Doctor?” He asked, shouldering his way to her.

“Yes,” Janet stated simply, shrugging her lab coat so it settled properly on her shoulders as she dropped to her knees beside Martouf. “He is the only at-risk person who hasn’t been tested.” She paused from checking his pulse and cortical response, to meet the General’s eye. “I need a holding room, with restraints, and a medical team to meet me there – same setup as the rooms prepared for Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter.” Martouf was too close to consciousness, goddamn host resistance; she hit him with another injection of morphine sulphate.

The general nodded sharply. “Room three is available, I’ll call for a team right away.” He turned to the airmen gathered around them. “Someone get a stretcher here asap. Everyone else, back to your duties!” He barked before marching away himself.

The blond Tok’ra stepped forward, kneeling on Martouf’s other side. “If he is a za’tarc as you say, it is highly likely that he is currently armed with a hara’kesh.”

Janet looked up, meeting his eyes. They were grim, yet certain. She didn’t know why he seemed to think za’tarcs had special weapons (because if that was the case why hadn’t they been searching for those as an indicator in tandem with the lie detector?), but clearly he knew something she didn’t.

She nodded for him to continue, watching as he riffled through the many hidden pockets of Martouf’s uniform, and not knowing what to feel as he pulled out a small something – hara’kesh apparently – with a grim expression.

“It seems you were correct, Doctor, I apologize for our behavior.”

“Don’t worry about it, you thought I was hurting your friend. And I didn’t want to risk the programming defending itself somehow if Martouf realized what I was doing – and why.”

He accepted her statement, and stood, saying, “I must find Anise,” before leaving.  

Janet sighed, feeling a tentative relief, and stroked Martouf’s hair away from his brow while she waited for the airmen to return with a stretcher. Her fingers were trembling, the rush of adrenaline beginning to ebb.

She wasn’t _in_ love with him - she knew that beyond doubt - but he’d been there for her this past year. Sometimes it wasn’t about love, wasn’t about the big future. Sometimes you just need a little help getting by. And he’d been that for her. Helped her get by. Shared his body with her. Cared about her. Kept loneliness at bay. And for that, she did love him in a way. Both of them.

“Dr. Fraiser?” A voice broke her from her reverie. She looked up, and moved aside to allow the airmen access to Martouf.

It wasn’t over yet.

 

“So… We’re sure it’s Marty?” Colonel O’Neill asked, glancing at all those gathered outside holding room three.

“We’re sure,” Janet said, before anyone else could state an opinion. “There is no other explanation for the… hara’kesh.”

Sam nodded along. “It makes sense, sir. We know Martouf is assigned to a laundry list of duties and missions. Plenty of which have him crossing into enemy territory.” She shrugged. “In all honesty, he’s the perfect choice, too. Trusted by both the Tok’ra and Earth. I mean, the very fact that we almost didn’t catch it in time is testament to that.”

“Yeah, but who knows that?” O’Neill demanded, arms open as if inviting explanations even as his brow furrowed.

“You mean aside from Apophis?” Enter Daniel Jackson: voice of reason.

Janet smiled at him, pleased with his interjection. She knew that the Colonel trusted Martouf more than any other Tok’ra – save Jacob – but symbiotes still put him on edge.

O’Neill deflated, “Right. Netu.”

“Tanith would also have been in a position to gather such intelligence.” Teal’c added.

O’Neill pointed at the Jaffa, apparently catching onto his train of thought. “That would explain how the damn slimy snake knew the where and when to snatch Marty.”

“And how he knew about the summit.” General Hammond weighed in.

Sam’s eyebrows moved up and down, her expression shifting rapidly. Janet felt a rush of sympathy for her friend, knowing this was hard on her. Brushing against Martouf would always bring a rush of Jolinar’s emotions to the forefront. Not an easy thing to deal with under the best of circumstances, but in one where her mate was in mortal peril? Especially difficult. “It’s personal too,” Sam eventually stated.

Everyone looked at her.

“Um… Personal?”

“Well… yeah. Martouf lied – believably – while being _tortured_ , and convinced Apophis that he’d actually betrayed the location of the main Tok’ra base and saved my life in the process.” She shrugged again, showing how obvious she thought the conclusion was – and Janet found that she agreed.

“As is the case with all Goa’uld, Apophis is indeed prideful. The fact that a Tok’ra was able to convince him of such a falsehood, while under the most severe torture, would make him a disgrace among the System Lords should they ever learn of it. As well as being a personal shame for which he would most surely hold a grudge.” Teal’c expounded in support of Sam’s argument.

The Colonel rubbed his hands over his face before abruptly pulling them away. “Okay, so we’re 99% sure that Apophis is behind the whole… za’tar thing… right?”

They exchanged glances and nodded. “Yeah, and if not him directly, then possibly allies, minor Goa’uld jockeying for favor, and following orders.” Daniel concluded.

“Alright people, the middle of the hallway is not the place for this discussion.” Hammond decided. “This thing is not over yet and we’re all needed elsewhere – except Dr. Fraiser.”

She nodded. “Thank you sir. I’d like to keep a close eye on him myself. Keeping a host – current or former,” she threw a teasing look at Sam, “sedated is tricky at best. And I am not comfortable with the thought of him waking up before this summit is _over_. We still don’t know enough about the programming; it’s effects on the brain, its activation, defenses, or long-term side effects.”

“You go where you think you’re needed. If that’s here, then that’s here. I will need you in the briefing room after the president leaves, so make sure you get someone to cover for you here when the time comes.”

“Yes, sir.” Janet turned and let herself into the holding room. Checked Martouf’s restraints and IV, made sure she had enough sedative and settled into a chair by his bedside to wait.

 

“Colonel!” Janet jumped to her feet, outraged as the door slammed open, revealing Colonel Jack O’Neill with a zat’nik’tel trained on Martouf. Her mouth dropped in horror as he fired a shot at the unconscious Tok’ra on the bed. “Colonel what the hell are you doing?” She demanded – nearly screamed in all honesty - as she put her body in O’Neill’s line of fire.

He lowered the weapon. “Trying to save one of the good ones, believe it or not.”

“What?” She was flabbergasted.

He huffed, checking the hallway before stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. “It’s just a hunch, alright. But Carter is pretty sure that the defenses Anise says this programming has, don’t actually kick in until it’s activated.”

“…Like a stealth mode?” She asked dubiously.

“Yeah,” he said blithely. “We figured it’ll be vulnerable to either a zat blast, or an EM pulse. And neither of those will damage Marty – Unlike Anise’s knives.”

Janet’s eyebrows climbed.

“So now it’s time to wheel him over to Carter’s lab. She should have it prepped by now.”

“Um…” Janet looked around, still playing catch-up “He’s not on a gurney Colonel. That bed is quite literally bolted to the floor.”

Jack sighed unhappily. “Yeah, alright… he’s no Teal’c, so I should be able to carry him that far.”

Janet rushed to remove the IV catheter from Martouf’s arm. She trusted her people. If they said Anise’s procedure was dangerously risky and that they – potentially – had a safer, more efficient way, she was all for that. Then she moved back as the Colonel knelt by Martouf, grabbed an arm and proceeded to pull him into a fireman’s carry.

“Let’s go,”

“I’ll get the door,” she rushed ahead of him and out into the corridor, making sure to close then more behind him, then scurrying to catch up. “Could you explain in a little more detail please, Colonel?”

“Not really my area of expertise, ya know?”

Janet fixed him with a stern glare.

He sighed before responding. “I don’t know, something to do with collapsing the magnetic field, interrupting or overwhelming the “currents” that control the programming. I dunno it was all egghead talk – you know Carter. Now all that’s just a guess… but apparently even most brainwashing techniques that the snakes know of can be cured with a zat - _so_ we’re hitting him with two types of electric… magno… whatever’s – and hedging our bets that way.” He met her eyes, “cross your fingers doc. If this doesn’t work there’s a good chance Marty’ll have his snake extracted – forcibly – so he can be Anise’s lab rat. None of us want that.”

“No,” she agreed emphatically, “we don’t.”

O’Neill seemed to consider for a moment. “Although his snake is a bit of an ass.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “His _symbiote_ ” she emphasized the term “can be very firm in his opinions – like someone else I know.” She gave him an imperious look. He did a double take.

“Who me?”

“Don’t sound so scandalized Colonel, it’s not like it’s a state secret.”

“I will have you know I am very reasonable!”

“Believe it or not, but so is Lantash. He’s also quite self-contained. You could learn a thing or two from him on that.”

He harrumphed and jogged past her into Sam’s lab where the rest of SG-1 was waiting for them.

“Teal’c could you help a brother out, here?” O’Neill called as Daniel ran to the door, sealing it and locking them in.

“Alright everybody, personal electronics off?”

“Wait!” Janet called. They all stopped and stared at her. “Should he be awake? Would that make a difference?”

Sam thought for a moment before she slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so. The brain is always active. There are even some signals for several hours after death. And – I’m making some assumptions here – I don’t think the programming’s defenses are that robust when it isn’t activated. It should be vulnerable.”

“But… it isn’t active at all. What if this does nothing?”

“That’s a possibility,” Sam’s voice and expression were grim, Janet frowned in reaction. “But I really do think it relies on remaining undetected as it’s primary defense. Once activated it takes control, and seems to damage the tendrils that symbiotes send into the hosts’ brain, preventing them from exerting control and overriding the program. So even if we fail to wipeout the programming, this should still be able to disable that at least, at which point Lantash could prevent him from following through.”

“Okay,” She drew out the word. “But my original question still stands. Shouldn’t he be awake for this? If the program relies on visual and/or auditory triggers, then it makes sense that it has some small measure of activity whenever he’s conscious. Like a… stand-by mode or something. Not actively doing anything, but ready to. What if it’s in a state of dormancy when he is? Couldn’t that – theoretically – protect it from an EMP, just like turning off our computers does?”

“She might have a point, Sam.” Daniel said, looking uneasy.

“Yeah, I don’t know much about these doohickey, thingamabobs, of yours. But we put him to sleep assuming that would stop the program from activating. Might’en it protect said programming too?”

Sam gave an exasperated sigh – clearly frustrated. “I don’t know – maybe.”

“Well… if the whole point of hitting him twice is to hedge our bets, maybe we should wake him up. He was under when I hit him with the zat, so…” Jack looked uncertain, Daniel nervous, and Teal’c as calm as ever.

Janet had a feeling her hair looked like _she’d_ been electrocuted.

“How do you propose we wake him? I was under the impression that Martouf was heavily sedated, and would not easily wake.” Sam inquired, impatiently.

“Actually,” Janet started, while fishing through her pockets, “I was concerned about the amount of sedatives I was pumping into him, so I had one of the nurses being me these!” She happily held up three prepared injections. “Two different types of stimulants, and if all else fails, adrenaline.”

“Okay,” Sam said, blowing out a heavy exhale. “Help me clear the table guys.”

Daniel, Jack, and Sam quickly relocated her equipment. Janet supported Martouf’s head as Teal’c gently lowered her lover’s limp body to the cold, metal table. They all gathered around as Janet swallowed convulsively. If Martouf were fully human, she would never advise this. As things stood, she was heavily leaning on Lantash to keep them both alive.

“Alright guys, here it goes. Sam? Two minutes please. If he hasn’t started to come around by then I’ll give him the second stimulant. If he still isn’t showing signs of regaining consciousness two minutes after that… the adrenaline.”

Sam’s lips thinned and paled as she listened. But her nod was concise. Janet took a few steadying breaths, then removed the needle cap and gently pierced Martouf’s skin - keeping her eyes glued to the unconscious man on the table. She really didn’t want to have to have to hit him another dose. She didn’t even realize that she was whispering under her breath. “Come on, come on, come on, come, on…”

His eyelids fluttered. She caught her breath. They fluttered again, and a groan sounded from his throat.

“Martouf?” She asked, using her thumbs to pull back his eyelids and check his cortical response. “Martouf, can you hear me?”

He mumbled something that might have been her name. His pupils were sluggish. Her brow furrowed in concern as her mind went through all the possible reasons why, before she reminded herself that he wasn’t fully conscious and the sedatives coursing through his veins could have this effect, and to stop assuming brain damage or intracranial pressure.

Sam was waiting, finger on the button. And Janet didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted him fully conscious, another part of her realized that in an effort to protect itself the programming might activate and put them all in danger.

“Teal’c?” She looked at him pleadingly. He gave a calm solitary nod; stepping closer, ready to restrain Martouf on her signal. “Martouf, if you can hear me, nod, okay.”

He made a pained sound; eyes squeezed shut, and gave a surprisingly controlled nod. Kudos to Lantash, they were recovering quickly.

“Good. Can you move?” Another nod. “Hold up two fingers please.” He complied weakly. “Excellent. Can you open your eyes?” She looked to Teal’c and began to step back as Martouf blinked his eyes open.

“What…?” He started, looking confused.

Then everything happened at once. His eyes glazed, expression dropping into nothing; Teal’c pounced and quickly pinned both Martouf’s arms. Janet shouted, “Now Sam!” Daniel jumped back, and the Colonel readied his zat. All in the time it took Sam to push a button.

A high whirring sound, and then Martouf went limp.

“Hitting it again, Carter!” O’Neill ordered.

“Sir, if one didn’t do it, two won’t make a difference!” She called back.

“Carter!” He yelled back, implacable.

She shook her head but obeyed. The whirring came again. Martouf still lay supine. His eyes were open still, glassy and unfixed, the vacant expression causing Janet’s heart to race with fear. The Colonel swore, snapping at Teal’c to step back as he took aim at the Tok’ra. Janet and Sam both called out in alarm as the shot connected.

Janet rushed to Martouf as soon as the energy from the zat blast dissipated, quickly checking his vitals before throwing the Colonel a venomous look. “Teal’c,” she looked at the Jaffa, fighting to stay calm. “Can you carry him back to holding room three, before this whole base goes up in arms about a potential za’tarc being MIA?”

“Certainly, Dr. Frasier.” He said, effortlessly scooping up the once again unconscious Tok’ra.

Janet threw another glare at O’Neill and stomped after Teal’c and Martouf. The Jaffa looked at her with an eyebrow raised as she drew up beside him. “What?” She snapped, harsher than she intended. Grimacing, she gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry Teal’c, this situation is getting to me. I hate feeling helpless.”

“It is indeed difficult to stand by and be unable to aid those whom you care deeply for.” Janet looked at him, startled, and caught the minuscule smile curling his lips before he wiped his expression into its usual placid calm.

“It’s not what you think. I mean… I _do_ care for him, deeply. But it’s not a relationship in the traditional sense.”

“I believe that I understand better than you assume, Dr Frasier. From what I have observed, the Tau’ri culture around physical intimacy is surprisingly restrictive. There is no dishonor in sharing such intimacy with a friend. Indeed, great comfort can be derived from such an arrangement.”

She smiled at him warmly; pleased he understood and wouldn’t automatically put her on the defensive over this.

“A great comfort,” she echoed. “Yes, he and Lantash both have been that for me.” She paused again. “I appreciate him more than I can say. And when the time comes for us to go our separate ways, I will always look back fondly.” She felt her smile turn wistful, and made no effort to change it.

“Do you anticipate such a change occurring in the near future?”

“Yeah… I do. I don’t know why, but…” She shook her head. “Call it intuition. Besides, his current predicament throws a lot of things into question.”

“Very true,” came the stoic response as Teal’c shouldered open the door to holding room three, and gently laid his burden down. “Are you in need of further assistance?”    

“No, Thank you, Teal’c.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I’ve got it from here.” He nodded and took his leave as Janet retied Martouf’s restraints, and got a fresh catheter for the IV.

She smiled at the bag of LR, remembering explaining it to Lantash a year prior. Looking back at his prone figure, she decided to take advantage of this brief moment alone with him and reached out to gently trace his features. Memorizing the feel of his smooth skin beneath her fingers, the handsome lines of his face. This man was strong and beautiful; kind and courageous; humble and confident. And for a time – no matter how brief – he had been hers.

Crystalline eyes blinked open.

“Good morning sunshine.” She cooed mischievously, teasing a smile to his lips.

“Janet,” he whispered, voice rough, head turning toward her. “What happened?”

“To be totally honest, I’m not sure I’m the best person to answer that. No clear answers at the moment, sorry.”

“You would not have sedated me without reason. You appeared distressed.” He insisted, eyes concerned and little apprehensive.

She sighed, “Martouf…” She really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. “We can talk about it later. For now, just rest, please. Your body has been put through a lot. How’s Lantash, by the way?”

Martouf frowned, apprehension growing into clear alarm. “I… I do not understand.” He pulled against his restraints, trying to sit up, and Janet put calming hands on his shoulders.

“Go easy, stay down, Martouf, and talk to me. What’s wrong with Lantash?”

Wide eyes fixed on her. “I do not know. He is there – but distant in a way I have never experienced, yet” he winced, “the way he moves seems agitated.”

“He’s moving?” Now Janet was alarmed.

Face pained, Martouf gasped, “yes.”

Sam’s voice echoed through her mind ‘ _seems to damage the tendrils that symbiotes send into the hosts’ brain’_. “Okay, he’s probably panicking. I have reason to believe that the tendrils connecting you have been damaged. But nothing should be preventing him from repairing it.”

“Stroke him, please.” Martouf groaned.

Janet blinked. “Stroke him?”

“Yes,” another gasping breath, “he will have to heal the tendrils, he cannot tear and replace them without changing hosts, and he knows I live, but otherwise he is trapped without sense. You can stroke him through my neck. I would do so myself, however the restraints prevent such action.”

She licked her lips, preparing herself. She’d never stroked Lantash before. Occasionally she’d feel him when she’d put her hand on Martouf’s neck during their more amorous activities, but that had never been more than a passive observation. Of course he could still feel it! That seemed so obvious now.  

Determined to help, she moved to sit on the bed by Martouf and reached both hands behind his neck, kneading until she found the thick rope that was the symbiote’s body. An easy task for a change as he was writhing beneath Martouf’s skin, clearly agitated. She instinctively began to make soothing shushing sounds – despite knowing that at the moment he couldn’t hear her (Martouf could) – and caressed the reptilian body firmly, in repeating motions. “That’s it,” she whispered as the wriggling calmed, continuing to stroke Lantash through his host.

Eventually, her wrists began to protest, and her fingers to cramp, but still, she continued. That is, until Martouf’s eyes flared brighter than she’d ever seen, before he promptly dropped unconscious. Slowly, she freed her hands and checked his restraints and pulse. Strong on both counts, Janet settled in for another nerve-wracking wait, while reminding herself that today could have gone much worse – he could be already dead.

 

* * *

  

Garshaw of Belote settled into the – surprisingly comfortable, if somewhat unstable – wheeled chair in the ‘briefing room’. And watched with no small amusement as her fellow Council members gingerly settled into their seats as well.

* As we expected, it was a long road, but we are finally here. Officially allied with the Tau’ri. * Yosuf’s soft voice sounded in her head.

* Yes Dear One. Though I must admit some surprise that it happened in under a decade. * She responded tartly.

Her host’s amusement flowed brightly through their shared consciousness.

* Although, * Garshaw continued * I must also admit that I find it troubling that the ink is still wet on our treaty and already we gather to discuss yet another problem, instead of celebrating our friendship. *

* True, * Yosuf replied, * however, it is a problem shared by our peoples and not one between them. We should be grateful for that at least. *

Garshaw sent a rush of warmth and gratitude toward her host, thankful as always for Yosuf’s ability to grant her some much-needed perspective.

The members of SG-1 arrived last, scurrying in and quickly sitting in the chairs left for them. For some, this was a first experience with the SGCs frontline team, the very one that first approached the Tok’ra seeking the very alliance that had just been finalized. Garshaw herself had not seen them since that fateful meeting, and smiled warmly in greeting. Pleased at their presence for this discussion. She and Yosuf both felt that their unusual methods and perspectives would be to the benefit of everyone in attendance; and wondered vaguely where Martouf was - they had expected him to arrive with SG-1.

Anise’s sour expression implied that she, at least, strongly disagreed with the notion that SG-1s attendance would be beneficial. Of course, Anise was little more than a puppet for Ren’al, whose suggestions of late had been making many among the Tok’ra uncomfortable with the direction things were heading in. Yet another reason why allying with these was for the best. Garshaw agreed with Selmak that the Tok’ra were in need of a course correction, lest they become exactly that which they despise.

“Well now that we’re all here, I’d like to again welcome our guests to Stargate Command, and say that I am looking forward to working closely together with the Tok’ra to defeat the Goa’uld.” General Hammond said, looking at the Tok’ra side of the table, who all nodded in recognition of his words.

“We are grateful to be here, and also look forward to our continuing relationship.” Per’sus responded.

“Well, down to the matter at hand, then. The za’tarc programming has affected both of our peoples. Seemingly, whichever System Lord is behind this, did so with the intention of disrupting this very alliance. And we would like to discuss methods of detection and possible treatments for those afflicted, should it continue to be an issue.”

“General,” Anise interjected, “I have already told you everything my team has discovered. As well as tested your teams.”

“Yes ma’am, you have. However, we have reason to believe that Martouf has been made a za’tarc.”

Stunned silence met the General’s statement. For several seconds the room was completely still. Then Malek spoke, “That is why he was not in attendance at the summit, nor here now. He was - and I imagine still is – sedated to protect both himself and those around him.”

“You knew and you said nothing?” Garshaw exclaimed.

Malek nodded somberly. “Yes, Master Garshaw. I was present when the head of their medical team sedated him. And I decided that informing the rest of the council delegates could wait. Martouf himself would have wanted the summit to continue. He worked very hard on negotiating the terms of the treaty. While it is regrettable that he could not attend, in the end I believed this course of action to be for the best.”

“Why do you believe Martouf to be a za’tarc?” Per’sus asked. “Was he not tested before arriving?”

Anise shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “No, High Councilor, he was not.” She said, looking subdued and remorseful.

“He should be tested immediately,” Thoran’s voice was hard and angry.

“I believe we have a few more points we’d like to discuss first. Besides, right now, he is heavily sedated and under the direct supervision of our chief medical officer, and is in no immediate danger.” Hammond took a deep breath and continued, “We here at the SGC have come to be very fond of Martouf. He’s around more often than any other Tok’ra – save Jacob and Selmak – and we’ve started to think of him as family. I assure you, we are caring for him as we would our own.”

Colonel O’Neill cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the room at large. “And in that vein, I think it’s time we let Carter talk about some of the theories she’s developed since listening to Anise explain what she knows on the subject.”

Remembering that Samantha Carter was the one who had designed their dialing program, Garshaw immediately gave her full attention. Believing that perhaps this inventive young woman had found a workaround for the za’tarc victims that was as brilliant as her dialing device. And mournfully noting that she would have truly complimented Jolinar – had the blending been voluntary and they’d stayed together and survived.

“Right, well ah, after talking to Anise, we know that the programming isn’t created using biological or chemical agents – it’s electromagnetic. And while it does seem to have fairly robust defenses once it’s activated, prior to initialization it seems to rely almost entirely on remaining undetected – stealth. Something that would be especially import in a blended victim as it has to hide not just from a human’s limited senses, but also from a symbiote’s incredible awareness of its host.”

“This is supposition of which we are already aware.” Ren’al interrupted coldly. Earning her glares from the rest of council and scowls from the humans.

“Keep talking Sammy,” Jacob encouraged his daughter.

“Because it has to hide from the symbiote under the thin veneer of one shared false memory, prior to activation, it should be vulnerable to a targeted electromagnetic pulse. An EMP would overcome the artificial currents of the program without doing undue damage to the brain itself.”

Garshaw and Jacob both smiled into the new, considering silence, that met her words. Inventive young woman, indeed.

“And I have an EMP generator that I built in my lab. No need for solar flares or a nuclear explosion. Perfectly safe to use and hopefully damaging to the programming.”

“What’s the downside, kid?” Her father asked.

“There’s no way to know for sure. Brain damage is possible, depending on how the programming reacts. But the more I think about it, the more I think it’s probable that the tendrils symbiotes send into the host’s brain would be damaged.” She said apologetically.

“Why do you say this?” Anise demanded, “I have noted no damage to the symbiote in prior cases.”

“Sure you have. You just didn’t recognize that’s what it was. I think that’s the first thing that happens upon activation. Otherwise, the symbiote would _never_ let their host go berserk like that and start killing their comrades. I don’t think there is a single Tok’ra host who wouldn’t want their symbiote to take control and prevent them from doing that. But that never happened. Not because of a lack of will, but because the symbiote literally couldn’t… because the conduits they rely on – the tendrils – were damaged.

“On the plus side, it’s likely that the program is designed to only do that once. So even if the main body of it were to survive, it’s possible that after repairing the damage, the symbiote would be able to isolate and overcome the program on it’s own.”

“Surely you realize that there would be no time for such repairs.” Ren’al scoffed.

“So knock ‘em out.” O’Neill was clearly beginning to lose patience. Garshaw remembered his little Goa’uld rant in the tunnels. “Besides, we’re talking about a hit _before_ the program activates. So there should be time. Especially if you knock ‘em out immediately afterwards.”

Daniel Jackson leaned forward, “And you should all know that during the summit,”

“Daniel,” O’Neill warned.

“During the summit –and without General Hammond’s approval - we tested this theory on Martouf.”

Outrage. Cacophony. Every Tok’ra in the room was furious as this presumption.

“We did it,” he yelled over their voices, “because like the General said, we think of Martouf as family as we wanted to try the lowest-risk option before we let Anise literally cut into his brain!”

That got everyone’s attention.

“We don’t know if it was successful or not. It clearly did something, but we did sedate him again immediately afterwards, and haven’t checked with the doc yet. We wanted to tell you so that you would know what, and why, and could get the test ready. We are cautiously optimistic about the outcome. And if there are side effects, by the time we get up there, doc will be able to tell us what they are.”

Garshaw knew that some of the council members were still seething, but beginning to understand that the non-blended had been attempting to do right by a friend. Clearing her throat, she said, “Then I believe it is time that those of us who are not urgently needed elsewhere, went and checked on Martouf and Lantash.” 

 

* * *

 

“Janet?” Lantash’s weary voice reverberated from the bed.

Looking up sharply, she gasped as she saw his eyes open and aware, and lunged forward. Kissing him with every ounce of pent up worry, and refreshing relief she felt. Plunging her tongue into his mouth and mourning that the restraints kept his clever hands off her body as they kissed wildly.

Realizing what she was doing, Janet pulled back abruptly, their lips smacking wetly as they separated. She and Martouf had never kissed outside sex. It wasn’t part of their relationship. Though they were lovers in the physical sense, kissing outside the heat of passion typically denoted more. And she still didn’t want more. Hopefully he’d know that it had been an expression of relief and leave it at that.

“You scared the shit out of me. How do you feel?” He looked exhausted.

“Weak, my” a knock interrupted them.

Janet stood and gestured the General in, unsurprised when the Tok’ra male from earlier, Anise, Jacob, and another woman she did not recognize accompanied him. Though the room really wasn’t big enough for all of them. Jacob stepped forward.

“Martouf, how do you feel?” he asked. Martouf smiled weakly at the question.

“Tired, weak, confused.”

“Confused?” Jacob pressed.

“Yes, some of my recent memories are vague or jumbled oddly. Illogically. Lantash believes he can sort them, given more time.”

“Okay, that’s good. Do you know what happened to you?” Apparently Jacob was their chosen representative as he continued to be the one speaking.

Martouf’s eyes flickered to her and then back to Jacob. “I was sedated. Then somewhere else. The surface I was on was cold and hard, I believe metal. And then I woke here.”

“You were in Sammy’s lab. We think you were made a za’tarc and Sam thought that an EMP might disrupt the program and save your life.”

Martouf was frowning in thought. “Yes… when I woke first, Lantash was locked away. He’s healed enough to come fore, but… my mind needs more repairs. He believes he can accomplish it without outside interference, given enough time.”

“Okay, we’re gonna escort you to the isolation room with Anise’s za’tarc detector and test you.”

“Sir!” Janet interjected, “he needs more rest.”

“Doc,” Jacob’s voice was firm, “we need to know.”

“If his memories are jumbled, your answers will be inconclusive.”

“Perhaps not,” Anise chimed in. “As long as he answers truthfully, he will pass. Unlike your lie detectors, mine does not require a simple yes or no response. He can expound on what he does know, and honestly state his confusion. I will admit that it is likely we will require another round of testing, after Lantash has completed his repairs to Martouf, it nonetheless gives us a good place to start.”

Janet frowned and observed the group. “Fine.” She caved, turning to unhook him from the IV. “I’ll be on standby in the infirmary if you need me.”

The General nodded to her, and she threw one last look at Martouf before taking her leave. It’d been one hell of a long day. She needed to eat. Thank God there was always something that passed as food in the mess hall. And pudding. Chocolate pudding sounded pretty damn good right about now.

 

A trio of knocks sounded on her office door. Looking over her shoulder, Janet was pleased to see Martouf standing in the open doorway, looking significantly better than he had when she’d left holding room three, four hours ago.

“Hey, come in, close the door.” She said cheerfully. “You’re looking better. How’s Lantash?”

He stepped in, and closed the door before replying. “We are both well, thank you for your concern.”

“Of course. What brings you by my office? I thought you’d be whisked back to the tunnels already.” She smiled up at him standing by the door, from her chair behind the desk.

“Several of the council members stayed behind. Garshaw wished to speak with me directly and I requested a small extension on my time here.”

They looked at each other, the silence pregnant, building in suspense, but comfortable nonetheless.

She broke it with a simple statement. “It’s time, isn’t it?” Not really a question. She knew. Had known. And had realized in the hours since she’d last seen him that it was for the best. If they kept this up much longer, someone would get hurt.

He looked down at his feet for a moment, his smile self-deprecating. “I am afraid so.”

The smile they shared now was both fond and nostalgic. The moment lingering, warm between them. Janet found herself reminded of Humphrey Bogart’s character Rick in _Casablanca_ , telling his former lover ‘ _We’ll always have Paris_.’ She felt that the sentiment applied. The reference however would be lost on Martouf, so she stayed silent.

“I also want to thank you, for saving my life today, and to tell you that I appreciated our time together.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that Martouf. Remember when Apophis was here? I took an oath to save lives. As for our time as _kal’mel’ach mek nok,_ I appreciated it too.” She made sure to hold his gaze. “It’s time. No hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings,” he echoed her, both reminiscing on their agreement.

“Still though,” she broke another lingering moment of quiet, “I don’t suppose you’d have time for one more, for the road?” She proposed impishly.

He tilted his head in that adorable way she found so charming. “One for the road?”

Her impish grin grew wickedly.

Realization dawned and an answering grin spread on his face. “I am not expected back in the tunnels until tomorrow. I believe we have time for more than _one_ for the road.”

Janet checked her clock – grateful that Cassie was at a sleepover - and was surprised to realize that technically her shift had ended a half hour ago. She hadn’t seen Stevens yet though, for the handoff.

“My quarters, fifteen minutes.”

Yeah, they’d had something beautiful - and she’d sure as hell enjoy the wake.


End file.
